White LieA Story by Woody the consequences of a lie, even if it is white, can be extremely detrimental to your family In the absence of
clouds, the sun was arrogantly strutting in a wide expanse of blue. It was
unseasonably warm in that October morning. Birds, those who had not yet
decided to pack up and head south, were flitting from tree to tree on either
side of the street, competing to produce the best warble. The front lawns of
the houses looked as if an artist-gardener used a ruler to make them straight. This divine tableau went
unnoticed to Jerry Kin. He trudged along the pavement, head bent, each step
felt like walking on shards of glass. No, there was nothing wrong with his feet
or legs. The stabbing pain he felt was in his… errr, how shall I put it? His
rear end. He’d just left the
doctor’s office with bad news. He needed surgery. His hemorrhoid was in an
advanced stage. A trip to the bathroom meant a torture session. Hell, he
couldn’t even have the pleasure of a fart. Sitting straight was impossible. His
wife, Shirley, finally convinced him that dilly-dallying wouldn’t make the problem go
away.
Jerry’s now lying on his stomach. He’s still feeling woozy and rather euphoric. The surgery was a success. They fixed his.. thing, though it means he’ll have to live on soups and mashed potatoes for the foreseeable future. His father’s sitting on a chair at the
head of the hospital bed. His mother’s sitting further away. They’re both
relieved that their son’s.. errr exit is fixed and running, no pun intended.
(or maybe it is intended. I know me. I can be gross, so please stop
complaining! You don’t live with me. I have to put up with me.) Shirley is on the other
side of the bed, pretending to whisper in his ear but is in fact nibbling at
his earlobe. His son, Harry, and his daughter, Derry, are out in the corridor,
having a cigarette on the sly by the open window and sharing a joke. They hear
hurried footsteps and turn to see Stew Hizadic striding towards them, looking
worried. His longish hair is all over the place and his glasses are
precariously perched on the tip of his pointy noise. If he doesn’t push them
back up, they’ll surely fall on the floor. He stops in front of the boy and
girl and uses his middle finger to hoist his glasses where they belong. Huh! What
did I say? Stew is Jerry’s best
friend. They’ve known each other since elementary school. Wives, try beating
that! Not bothering to say
hello, he enquires about his buddy, “How is he?” he pants,
looking worried. “He’s fine, don’t worry,”
reassures the son,” “Can you believe he
never told me about this surgery?” “I’m sure he didn’t want you to worry. It’s no big deal, really.” “What did they operate
on, anyway?” Embarrassed, Harry and Derry looked
at each other, not knowing how to describe their father’s predicament. “Well, it’s…” “His ear,” blurts out
Derry. “Oh, Lord!” exclaims Stew
and storms into the room. He greets everybody with a cheery “Howdy all?” then
strides towards the prostrate man. “So? Keeping secrets
from your old friend, you sonofagun?” he says and gives him a
friendly slap on the bum and turns to the father, not noticing that Jerry
has turned purple. He buries his face in the pillow to muffle his scream while
biting on his lower lip. “You know,” he tells the befuddled father, “I knew this would happen. I told him once if I told him a
thousand times to stop inserting objects in it.” “He did what?”
spluttered the father, turning red. “He had this nasty habit
of inserting in it anything he laid his hands on and jiggle it about. He seemed
to enjoy it. A match, his finger, a pen. Jesus, he even thrust a key in there,
once. He had this psychotic urge to cleanse it. Of what? I ask you.” They hear a dull thud
and turn to find the mother slumped on the floor, unconscious. © 2015 WoodyFeatured Review
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WoodyMateur, Bizerte, TunisiaAboutok, time for an update I think. my old friends have come to know me pretty well, I trust so this is for the new comers. I'm a Tunisian 60-year-old teacher-cum-translator, book worm who enjoys writing.. more..Writing
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